


The Wheel's Still in Spin

by Laurenjames



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-11
Updated: 2010-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurenjames/pseuds/Laurenjames
Summary: Written in 2010 (age 17) for the prompt 'time turner'
Relationships: Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	The Wheel's Still in Spin

Logically, Hermione knew that she wasn't allowed in the Time Chamber until after her internship. There was a raft of perfectly good reasons for this: safety issues, secrecy issues, moral issues.

She also knew she had plenty of work to do. More than she could manage, to be perfectly fair, and for Hermione to admit that was quite something. But this didn't stop her thinking, in the middle of the night, just as she drifted off to sleep, of what was behind that door teasing and tantalising in her dreams.

Since the Time Turners had been destroyed in Hermione's fifth year of school, the Time Chamber had been kept completely under wraps. For a room in the Department of Mysteries, this wasn't unusual, in fact, it was the norm. What was interesting was that all of the Time Turners were supposedly destroyed in the battle years ago, so there should be nothing in that particular room to work on for Unspeakables. The rumours in the coffee room had it that they were trying to fix the Time Turners (apparently one of the women working in the Love Room had gone past just as they were coming out for the day, and heard them mention a restorative spell. Unspeakables were nothing if nosey, probably because they were never allowed to tell each other about their work, so were reduced to deciphering cryptic hints from one another).

Hermione knew that the spell to time travel had only been created by Merlin (naturally, she'd been researching ), and all of the Time Turners in existence had been crafted by him. Apparently he hadn't wanted to share the spell, as one of his friends had threatened to make all his socks send him 4 minutes into the past, and he didn't want to risk having to avoid himself every morning. Hermione suspected there was a bit of creative embellishment of the part of the biographer there, but knowing some other stories about Merlin, she wasn't entirely willing to put it past him. Anyway, no one had been able to recreate the spell since his death, and so Hermione thought this might be what the Unspeakables were up to.

But a small, vain (but, she thought, rightly so) part of herself knew, just _knew _that if she was allowed into the Time Chamber, she would be able to help fix the Time Turners. She had, of course, used one when she was 14, which put her in a better position than most Unspeakables to help. She'd also helped defeat the Dark Lord! O_f course _she could help. It was the perfect challenge too, trying to recreate a spell only done by Merlin.

She'd made several large, unsubtle hints to her tutor that she'd like to be placed there after her internship had ended, but the thought of waiting a whole two years before she'd even have a chance of looking at the research that was going on, let alone being allowed to begin her own, made her cringe. She couldn't even start working in her own spare time— every time she'd tried to access the Time section of the Ministry library she'd been sent packing with her (literal) tail between her legs. The librarian had a wicked sense of humour. It had been a whole 4 floors of sniggers and meows before she'd realised, and Hermione mourned why it always happened to her.

That, she explained to herself, was a perfectly rational explanation for why she was currently standing in the Department of Mysteries in Harry's invisibility cloak, waiting outside the Time Chamber for the door to open. It was the normal response to the situation she was placed in; anyone would do the same._ If they found themselves unable to sleep because they were haunted by a research project_, she winced. Maybe she was completely insane and should speak to Ginny about getting checked over by one of her colleagues at St. Mungos.

But now the door was opening, and she told herself it was now or never, and that curiosity never actually killed any cats as far as she was aware. She quietly slipped in the closing door. She held her breath, waiting, even though she knew perfectly well the alarms wouldn't go off for an Unspeakable, whatever department she was in. Nothing happened, and, softly exhaling, she regarded her surroundings with the air of a child at Christmas.

It was a smallish room, about the size of an average classroom, and dressed in almost the same fashion. Desks in neat, orderly lines filled the room, with wizards and witches sitting quietly, murmuring spells under their breath. They were all surrounded by piles of dusty books, towering far too high to not have magical supports , parchment covered with dense scribbles, rusting metal spirals that must be the remains of dead Time Turners, and even a computer or two.

It didn't look like much, but it took Hermione's breath away. Grinning, she slowly padded across to stand behind an older man, who was busy scribbling on a spiral bound notepad (must be muggleborn), and peered over his shoulder. He seemed to be making lists of numbers, occasionally typing into a calculator and frowning. She had no idea what he was doing but she could feel a giggle about to burst from her lips at the possibility of finding out. She was here, finally! No more admin, no more sitting in the library staring into the restricted sections, eavesdropping on conversations that mentioned clocks, time, turns, and repairing.

She moved away from the man before she gave herself away, finding herself looking across the desk of a woman who was casting spells over a grandfather clock which was standing on her desk, reaching almost to the ceiling. She'd pause, listen to something and then cast another spell with a complicated twirl and double flick motion Hermione had never seen before. She was casting them nonverbally, too, Hermione noted with consternation. Hermione leant closer, trying to work out what she was listening for, and grinned when she heard the ticks suddenly pause and speed up.

For the next half an hour, Hermione worked her way along the rows of the room, pausing when she saw something interesting. On one desk she recognised the bell jar that had aged a Death Eater in the battle, making him younger and older, and she stayed away from that area cautiously. People were leaving for the end of the day now, and this was what she had been waiting for. She retreated to the back of the room so as to not get in the way, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, waiting.

The noise dulled, and finally the last person left, flicking off the lights with his wand as he did so. Hermione paused in the darkness in case anyone returned, feeling excitement grow in her throat. After a few minutes she pulled out her wand to cast a_ lumos_, but hesitated before she did so. Something wasn't right. There was a faint light in the room— she could see her wand, the smooth, worn curves from years of use in the colours of the wood. It seemed to be coming from beneath her, making her fingers glow pink from below.

Hermione sat up onto her knees and twisted, inspecting the floor. There was a faint line of light along where the floor and wall met. She ran her fingers along it, frowning, and then gasped in excitement. There was a hidden door in the wall! Finally casting a _lumos _she stood up and looked for a way to open it, trying several unlocking spells, and pressing her hands to indentations in the bricks like in an old Enid Blyton mystery.

Finally, she gave in, cursing. There was no way she'd be able to get into a hidden door, in a secret room, in the Department of Mysteries. She thumped her hand off the wall in frustration, twice in succession. The door swung open. Knocking? That was all it took?

She frowned in alarm, then pushed into the room, too curious to pause and survey her surroundings for danger. It was a small room, the walls completely covered in papers and parchments, post-it-notes and memos, all covered in the same dense handwriting. A littered desk stretched from wall to wall and resting in the dead centre, the source of the light shone. It was a glass jar of white sand.

Hermione stepped towards it, mind completely blank. What on earth could it be? She wanted to touch it, could almost see herself twisting off the lid, and dipping a hand inside. Picking up a handful of the sand, letting it trail through her fingers. It might tingle slightly, and the luminescence would make her hands glow. She was almost reaching for the lid, to open it, and jolted herself out of it. Instead she looked for an inscription, and found none. Then she moved to the wall, trying to decipher some of the notations.

It took a while but slowly a picture of what they were studying came to mind. It seemed the sand changed a person's weakest moment, changed the moment they failed the most, and let others down. Hermione thought back over her life, over all the people who died and who could have been saved. She thought about why she really wanted to join the Time Chamber team, deep down, and then she stood back, facing the jar.

Finally, she reached into the jar and extracted a handful. Staring at the sand in her palm, she trailed her fingers in it, thinking. She could have helped save so many people and she didn't. She could make such a difference to the lives of her friends, family, everyone.

Making a decision, she bent her head and licked a line of sand off her palm, tasting salt and grit on her tongue. Then she stood, and waited, rubbing it against the roof of her mouth absentmindedly.

It was like travelling in a pensieve. She fell from above, falling down, down like Alice, to the same location, or at least building, she had been in before. It was the Department of Mysteries, the battle; she could see herself, fighting Dolohov, Harry and Neville fighting other Death Eaters. This was the moment when she was hit with a spell and her involvement in the battle had ended. She watched, hopeful- could she duck the spell? Is that what would change? Grinning she held her breath, and thought ahead, mind whirling, of what would change. Sirius could be saved! The thought of how much happier Harry would be lit her up inside.

It did happen. The vital moment when she lost concentration changed, and from then on, everything was different. She blocked Dolohov's curse, and followed Harry and Neville into the Death Chamber with the veil, helping them fight. Hermione drifted along above, watching with rising excitement. There! When Bellatrix started fighting Sirius, Hermione was there, helping him. She sent spells from behind, soft and childish, but enough to distract her, enough to give Sirius the chance to fight back.

He didn't die, didn't fall into the veil! Sirius didn't die, she repeated excitedly. Instead, Bellatrix twisted, snarling viciously, and shot one spell straight at Hermione. Just a few little words. A brief flash of green light, and Hermione fell backwards, spine twisting to the side, body limp and hitting the floor with a muffled thud.

Sirius cried out, the sound full of pain and horror, eyes wild; hissing at Bellatrix, and sent a spell her way. She blocked it, grinning madly and the fight continued, but Hermione was no longer watching. Her eyes were fixed on her own twisted body, lying in a mess on the stone floor.

Around her the fight ended and people calmed, left, but Hermione stayed, her mind blank, eyes drying out as she forgot to blink. She died. She changed the past and caused her own death. She watched her friends lean over her body, weeping, and mourning, touching her blank, lifeless face softly. Hermione couldn't bare their pain and closed her eyes, tired and worn. She waited for the past to catch up to her, and for her consciousness to disappear. She drifted in the wake of the party as Ron carried out her corpse, into the atrium of the Ministry. He laid her on a stretcher. Blankly, she noticed Dumbledore on a stretcher nearby, lying still and white. Around her was silence, only chokes and coughs and gasps filling the air as workers entered the building and took in the tragedy.

As she began to take in the repercussions of her actions—Dumbledore was the only one who knew about the horcruxes, Harry couldn't defeat Voldemort without that knowledge, time began to speed up. The most important events of her life (and death) sped up and became blurs in the passage of time. People moved back and forth, the ministry workers, daily life. And it kept speeding up, until the people became insignificant and only the building remained constant.

After time, that too began to change. The rooms around her were raided, Death Eaters racing back and forth with objects, destroying the statue, piling up corpses. The world around her collapsed, and Hermione floated, watching time speed up and get closer to the present day.

Finally the nightmare stopped and Hermione stood in an empty ruin, tears trailing down her cheeks. For the longest time her mind was blank, until eventually she thought to herself_, Oh Shit _Once she realised what a complete and total mess she'd made of everything, she resolved the only thing to do was to fix it.

First things first, find home. She was desperate to see the state of the wizarding world- from the look of the ministry it wasn't good, but she wanted to know the scale of the destruction. And- she could barely say the words- which of her friends had been victims of her mistake. Who she had killed. Or at least, whom she had condemned to slaughter.

The entrances were full of rubbish and rubble, and looked completely impossible to pass, but the fireplaces seemed relatively intact. She tested for wards, found none, and carefully gathered a handful of floo powder from the crushed remains of a knocked over pot, was lying in the dust.

Then, gathering the most burnable looking pile of rubbish she could find, she laid a small fire (a memory of Ron telling her _You're a witch, you don't need matches_! sticking in her throat) and quickly stepped into the flames, calling out The Burrow as she did so. All her preparations had stopped her thinking about her situation, but the few seconds she twisted in the green flames let her mind fill with awful images of what she might find at the other end of her journey.

Luckily, it wasn't as bad as she'd imagined. It was empty, dusty and abandoned, but it wasn't a ruin. At least, this room didn't seem to be so. She quickly ran through the house, noting the lack of possessions with relief. At least they'd left of their own accord, not because they had been— well, couldn't come back. She wanted to check Molly's clock, dreading what it might tell her, but needing to know anyway. It stood, as always, in the kitchen, steadfast and immobile. All of its hands were pointing to Mortal Peril, but they were intact. Hermione let out a cry of relief, long, racking sobs that she couldn't control. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred (Fred! Still alive!), George, Percy, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, Victoire, Molly, Arthur... the whole extended family, added over the years to the clock, were still with her. And presumably, somewhere in hiding, right now, not even aware she was alive.

First place to check, Grimmauld Place. She couldn't think of a reason it wouldn't be used; if Sirius hadn't died then the house would still be safe. She apparated quickly to the door, efficiently stepping onto the ledge as she had many times before. Knocking eagerly, she didn't take a chance to consider the reactions of her friends, to the appearance of a dead teenager, all grown up, on their doorstep. So she didn't have time to be shocked when Harry, answering the door, immediately pulled out his wand and stunned her.

"She looks exactly like her. Exactly. How could they do this? Polyjuice potion doesn't continue to age you after...death, does it?"

"Of course it isn't her! Don't be such a fool, Harry; can't you see they knew you'd be upset?"

"She's waking up, shh. Remember; however convincing she is, please remember Crouch. Even Dumbledore couldn't tell the difference between Alastair and him."

"I know. Believe me, I know it isn't her."

Wincing against the after-effects of the spell, Hermione opened her eyes groggily. Blinking against the light, she took in the sight of the whole order gathered around her. Doing a quick headcount, she noticed with delight that everyone was alive and counted for. Even a little baby Teddy was resting in his mother's arms- a sight Hermione had never seen before, making her smile despite the situation.

In the sudden silence, Hermione realised the voices she'd heard had been part of a heated argument that had been going on between every member of the Order while she was asleep.

"Hi." She whispered warily, her voice cracked and croaky.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry demanded; eyes hard and empty, wand held tight in his fist. Hermione regarded him, and stated, "My favourite flavour of ice cream is Raspberry ripple," which had been her identifying fact from the War, "and you once threw up on my homework and actually ran away because you thought I'd kill you" before turning to Ron and saying, "When I went to the Yule ball with Viktor, you accused me of fraternising with the enemy," and Ginny-"You came to confide in me by the lake at the Burrow, and I made you a daisy chain while we talked" and Fred- "You once apparated into my room looking for Ginny whilst I was getting dressed, and blushed bright red"; George- "You fed me canary creams and made me swear never to tell anyone what I did to you in return".

She went around every person there, telling each of them a small fact or tit bit, trying to prove she was who she said she was. Once she reached Molly ("The first summer I stayed at the Burrow, I bought you a bunch of Lilies and a Dundee cake and you nearly cried.") everyone in the room had shining eyes and awestruck expressions.

"How?" Remus gasped, voice dry and cracked but the only one able to speak.

"It's a long story. You might want to sit down. Can I have a hug first, please? I've missed you all so much." Everyone burst into noise and she was surrounded by bodies, falling onto the bed where she lay and patting every inch of her they could find. Ron's wet cheeks hit hers as he squeezed her tight and Harry pressed his face into her hair, sobbing happily.

Hermione wondered when she'd ever felt so relieved and content, and couldn't stop crying. She kissed George's ear, laughing at his confused expression, and spent long seconds touching Fred's face in amazement. Molly had a hand in hers and was talking nonstop, Ginny hugging her shoulder tightly, and Remus and Tonks introducing her to Teddy, whose hair turned multicoloured in the excitement.

McGonagall shook her hand heartily, and so did Moody; Hermione was surprised to see them holding hands and wondered how that had come about. She was pleased someone was finding happiness in the midst of such trauma. And standing at the back of the crowd, a slight smile lighting his face, was Sirius. Hermione met his eye as she was squeezed by Fleur, and he winked, a silent promise to talk later.

Finally the quiet dulled down, and she began to explain, a long tale full of interjections and amazed cries, tears and laughs, and confusion. She mourned Dumbledore, and explained what had happened in her timeline, and finally, was updated on what had happened in the one that had replaced it.

Hogwarts, McGonagall said with a sigh, had been taken over by Snape after Dumbledore's death, who was working for Voldemort. Almost immediately, an attack on the ministry had lead to its collapse. Unable to fight back, lacking the resources, the Order had gone into hiding, helping muggleborn wizards and witches to escape the danger and doing as much as they could to fight against the new government of Death Eaters in an underground regime.

For the last few years, no progress had been made, but lives had been saved, and some sense of normality had been preserved. Minerva and Alistair had set up a small day school, teaching young students, whose families they had helped, and training older students in combat skills, preparing for an uprising they hoped to develop.

Hermione happily imparted all the knowledge she had about horcruxes, the prophecy involving Harry and Voldemort, and was regarded with amazement and disbelief at the result of the war. Harry was struggling to comprehend what was being told to him; he had never even found out what the prophecy had said, and Hermione realised that it wasn't really fair on him to give him such a large lump of information in one go. But she could feel the excitement building in the room as everyone realised how much hope they now had of defeating Voldemort, and how the situation had changed.

People were discussing how best to begin finding the horcruxes; Ginny was telling Hermione excitedly about Luna and Neville, who were still at Hogwarts undercover, and how she had been using the old magic galleons to write to them, and could tell them to find the diadem in the Room of Requirement. Bill was discussing with Remus how best to get a goblin to let them into the vault at Gringotts, and how most of them were on the side of the Order once Voldemort came to power and employed his prejudices against them. Fred and George were discussing with Arthur how they could find Tom Riddle's house, and get the ring, and Charlie mentioned an idea for reinforced dragonhide gloves that could protect the wearer.

Hermione even managed to find the locket, right there and then. Kreacher had been chucked out of Grimmauld Place after the battle in fifth year, but a quick exploration revealed the locket lying peacefully amongst his possessions in his cupboard. The Order resolved to destroy it as soon as they could get hold of a basilisk fang.

The whole room buzzed with plans, and Hermione felt rather left out. They were all experiencing thoughts and ideas she'd already had, and whilst people occasionally asked her advice and how such-and-such had gone about before, they all assumed she wouldn't be a part of the resistance.

Molly had told her to sit and rest, and when she mentioned coming with Harry and showing him where the diadem was, he firmly told her she was not to leave Grimmauld Place. Everyone nodded, and Ron said, "We've already lost you once, there is no way we are risking you again." Remus wryly added, "And not to sound uncaring, but the information you have is much too important to risk losing you. You stay here."

Hermione was at a loss at how to reply to this. She wanted to help, seeing as the whole situation was her fault, but she knew that logically they were right. The most help she could provide would be with information. It was still hard to watch people leave without her- Harry was eager to start straight away; after years of aimlessness, having a useful goal had sent him hyper. He, Ron and Ginny left for Hogsmeade, to meet Luna and Neville at the painting in The Hog's Head. They were going to help hunt down the diadem at Hogwarts.

The room had emptied substantially, and Hermione was trying to subtly yawn into her palm every few minutes, when Molly told her to go to bed, saying she could have Ron's room for the night seeing as he was away. Sirius, who had been talking quietly with Bill about something or other, interrupted, saying, "You can't inflict that on the poor girl! I saw him eat a crisp sandwich in his bed iwithout a plate/i the other day! She can have my bed tonight, I don't mind kipping on the couch, I do it enough anyway."

Molly looked as though she was about to object, but then, obviously reconsidering the state of Ron's room, nodded and continued up the stairs. Hermione had time to thank Sirius before being dragged inexorably in her wake. In the seconds before Hermione collapsed into sleep, she appreciated the spicy scent of Sirius' pillow, realising she'd remembered and missed it all these years, since she'd last seen Sirius.

The next morning, Hermione entered the kitchen bleary eyed. It took a few minutes for her to register the cup that Sirius slid across the wooden table to her, and she breathed in the scented steam off the Chai tea appreciatively. Pale, milky and boiling hot, just as she liked it.

"Thanks."

"I thought that even in an alternative universe, your taste in tea wouldn't have changed," he grinned.

Hermione smiled back, and asked, "Where is everyone?"

"Where do you think?"

Strangely, Hermione wasn't worried about the progress of the Order's missions, probably because of Sirius' relative calm. "Why aren't you helping, Sirius?"

Sirius looked down at his paper for a long moment, but Hermione could see his eyes weren't following the words. Finally, he looked up at her.

"I'm still a Death Eater, remember. I'm one of the most easily recognisable faces in the wizarding world, even now. Voldemort even had it put out that I was responsible for killing Dumbledore."

"Why would he do that? Didn't he want the recognition for himself?"

"After the battle, for a while he tried to make himself into a good figure, saying the ministry hadn't done a good job of capturing me, and that's why such an awful event had happened. He did need some support, from ministry lackeys and the like, to collapse the government. I think a lot of people even believed him for a while, until they realised what an awful job he was doing in their place. The lasting effect of that little bit of propaganda is that I can't go out in public without people fainting away, left, right and centre."

Hermione looked at him with sympathy.

"Still," he said lightly, forcing a wry smile, "at least it's better than being dead, like you say I was."

They sat in silence for a while, Hermione sipping her tea, and Sirius pretending to do the crossword.

"Anyway, it's not so bad. I've got some more pleasing company than Kreacher this time," he smirked, as Hermione stood up, off for a shower. She snorted, and deposited her cup in the sink, padding to the doorway. She paused to look back at Sirius. He raised an eyebrow, sweeping a glance at her, small and frail in his oversized dressing gown. Hermione shook her head and left, her smile remaining until halfway down the corridor.

The peaceful coexistence didn't last long between them. Once the polite awkwardness, whilst they got used to each other as adults, had gone, they found out they had a lot in common, and spent their time sitting in front of the fire, curled up with books, or talking for hours over a cup of Hot Chocolate. But by the second evening, when they still hadn't heard anything from Harry and the rest of the Order, they were both jumpy and worried. They had been sharing possession of the locket between them, and that didn't help matters. They snapped at each other all day, and ended up arguing bitterly over a silly point at breakfast.

Sirius stalked off and Hermione was left, breathing heavily, wondering why, in the midst of their argument, her eyes had darted down to Sirius' lips. That evening, after a day of sticking to her room with a romance novel, she went and sat next to Padfoot on the sofa. He was lying with his head on his paws, staring moodily into the fire.

Hermione tentatively touched a hand to the top of his head, and when he made no response, scratched behind his soft ears in reconciliation. He grunted softly, and shifted, tilting his head and guiding her hand to the ruff of his neck. She smiled softly and scratched, listening to the crack of the fire and feeling strangely content. That night she fell asleep curled around a sleeping Padfoot.

She awoke, however, curled around a sleeping Sirius. They were spooned together; her hand cramped under his neck, and his bottom was wedged firmly between her thighs. She felt very crushed, pressed against the sofa, the narrow seat taken up by a full-grown, sleeping male, snoring soundly in her ear. She coughed pointedly, grinning, and he jolted awake. When he saw it was her he relaxed, grinning too.

She suddenly lost the humour of the situation, however, as she realised with his movement that every inch of her breasts were pressed tightly against his back, which, along with the rest of him, was very naked. A blush rose to her cheeks and she turned her eyes up to the ceiling, wanting very much to look elsewhere.

Sirius coughed, scrambling up and grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa, and wrapping it around himself. He paused before leaving, tentatively asking, "So...we good?" Hermione nodded, not looking at him, and smiling, he left the room.

Later that day, Harry returned, full of news of their progress. Hermione had been reading the paper, still voraciously absorbing every inch of information about the current state of the war, and Sirius was sitting with a book. He was watching a bead of water gather at the end of a strand of her wet hair. Finally gravity won over surface tension, and it dripped onto her neck. Her shoulder unconsciously twitched slightly against the cold. Sirius watched the drop of water, shining on her skin. He was just realising he wanted more than anything to lick it, when the front door clicked open. He jerked away, guiltily, telling himself it was time for a visit from Padfoot, if he was wanting to lick things, and Hermione called out, "We're in here!"

She sat up excitedly and turned towards the door. Harry entered, looking tired and dirty, but excitement emanated from his entire posture.

"Hi guys! You were right, Hermione! We struck the diadem, which Luna found in the Room of Requirement, with the basilisk fang! I taught Neville the opening word, and he went and got some from the Chamber for us. It took so long because they had to sneak around everywhere, but we did it! One down!"

Sirius and Hermione excitedly congratulated Harry, feeling the achievement as much as he did. "So, where's the locket? Let's have at it!" Harry waved a gruesome looking fang around like it was a lollypop.

Sirius handed him the locket and Harry winced. "This is the bit I don't like. Last time it said things, to try and stop me. It said...well, it was awful."

"Let me do it," Sirius quickly volunteered, "I have to help somehow."

Harry passed him the fang carefully and stared at the locket, holding it tentatively in his palms.

"I just tell it to open, right?" he asked Hermione for confirmation. She nodded, excitedly; she hadn't seen this before and was interested to see how it went. Every horcrux had been different, and Ron had been strangely recalcitrant about this one, although she had been rather too busy being angry at him to inquire further at the time.

He hissed at the locket, and it clicked open. Harry winced, and held it out, hands shaking slightly. Sirius swallowed and adjusted his grip on the curved tooth. Just as he was lifting his hand to strike, a familiar voice came hissing out of the locket. Everyone jumped slightly.

_"I have seen your heart and it is mine," _the locket intoned. Sirius went pale. "_Always sitting, always waiting, letting other people fight while you hide in the shadows. Not even your friends trusted you. Useless coward."_

Sirius' mouth curled into a snarl, and he brought his arm up. The locket changed, figures bursting from it. Remus, eyes dark and fangs bulging under his lips, Harry, looking young and small.

"_You've let us down, Sirius. I've needed your help, and you've just sat here, feeling sorry for yourself. My parents trusted you to be there for me. You've just been a burden. You might as well be dead,"_ a sneering Harry bit out at him, eyes red and flashing.

"_Why do you think James didn't trust you to be secret keeper, Sirius? You weren't strong enough, and they died because of you. Because when they needed you, you failed them. I didn't even believe in you. All those years you were in Azkaban, I never once cared enough for you, to try and help you, never once thought about you," _Remus suddenly screamed,_"I was glad of the relief! You were always such a burden. No wonder your family didn't want you."_

"Sirius! Please, it hurts!" the real Harry pleaded, and Sirius became unfrozen, eyes wide and horror-struck. Once again he attempted to strike, but the locket changed once more, the two figures curling together in a sickening embrace, merging into a female figure, Hermione. She curled her lips and wept flaming tears, hissing into Sirius' face.

_"You dirty old man_," she said with disgust, "_you might as well be dead. You should be dead. You killed me. You murdered me so you could live your boring little pointless life. I'll never forgive you. And now I'm back you're just being a pathetic pervert, lusting after-"_

Sirius gasped, blinking back tears, and struck, pushing through Hermione's transparent chest, and into the locket. Everyone was silent. Staring dumbstruck at the empty horcrux. Then Harry flipped it shut tentatively, inspecting the broken cover.

"Yes! Sirius, you did it! You're amazing!" Harry pulled him into a hug, Sirius held himself stiff, but after a few seconds relaxed, wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulder. "But, all that stuff, Sirius, you know that's not true, right? I don't know how we would have survived without you? We all need you here, we all love you."

Sirius nodded weakly, and then laughed it off. "Of course I do. It was just trying to get to me, that's all. And it didn't work, did it? All of that stuff was crap, and he knew it."

Harry hugged him again, reassured, then turned to Hermione and wrapped her in a hug. "Listen, I have to go. Everyone's meeting at Shell Cottage; Bill's got hold of a goblin who can help us get into Gringotts. I'll send a patronus keeping you updated. Neither of you leave here, ok?" and then he was gone.

"How long do you think he can keep going on adrenaline?" Sirius muttered, "I'm tired just listening to him." Hermione ignored his attempt to lighten the mood, looking at Sirius' back. She walked behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Sirius." He didn't answer. After a long moment, he murmured her name, as if he was about to speak, and then tried to shrugged her off, stepping away.

Hermione, feeling a surge of bravery, suddenly pulled his shoulder around. He turned, surprised. She was about to tell him that she didn't mind; it was all in his head, when without even consciously thinking about it, she leant forward, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him.

She stepped back, eyes bright and cheeks red, and stared defiantly at a point somewhere over his right shoulder. Sirius looked at her face intently, and then cupped her cheek with his hand, thumb rubbing over her cheekbone. She shivered, and flicked her eyes to his, licking her lips.

He bent down, and paused slightly, looking into her eyes, and then kissed her. Sirius brought up his other hand up to her face, cupping her other cheek, and tilted her head slightly to allow him better access. Hermione sighed into his mouth, stepping closer and bringing her hands up to his shoulders, pulling him down towards her. They kissed for long moments, slowly and softly, until Sirius pulled back.

"Why are you doing this? I'm hardly a catch," he said bitterly, "I don't want your sympathy."

"Who says you aren't a catch? Just cause you can't see it in yourself, doesn't mean other people can't. You're brilliant."

"I'm an old man. You're so young. It's wrong."

"Are you Sirius Black; flirting connoisseur that I've heard so much about, or aren't you?"

"I've had your death on my conscience for the last four years; it's hard to go from that to...snogging."

"You did not cause my death. If anything, it was my own fault. In the normal timeline, you are the one that dies, as you well know. Me going back in time and changing what happens caused my death, not you."

"Ok, so saying it wasn't my fault. We still hardly know anything about each other. The last time we really spent any time together was when you were sixteen! For you, this is just a fleeting crush you'll get over soon enough. You don't want me dragging you down."

"What, so you're going to make that choice for me? I'm not some silly little girl, you know. I'm 20! I've been through things you couldn't imagine, helped defeat the worst mass murderer in existence; I think I'm old enough to decide for myself who I want to have sex with."

Sirius spluttered, flustered. "Unless the real reason is that you think you can't keep up with the pace? Too old, are you?" Hermione grinned wickedly.

Sirius looked at her, a look of amazement on his face, which slowly changed to a devious grin. Hermione swallowed, wondering what she'd let herself in for. He stepped towards her, and she quickly treaded backwards. He stalked her, slowly pushing her against the wall, hands either side of her shoulders, palms pressed against the wall. He had her caged.

"I'll show you 'too old'," he whispered silkily into her ear, then pulled her lobe gently between his teeth. 

*

The next morning, they were woken up by shouting.

"Guys, are you here? We've done it, guys, we've got rid of all the horcruxes! We're going to attack Voldemort; end this whole thing finally! We're meeting at Hogwarts." Harry barged into the bedroom, finally speaking directly to them instead of monologue-ing as he ran around the house. "Come on lazybones, get up! We need your help."

Harry completely ignored the fact that they were in bed together, high on adrenaline and excitement, running back out the room and calling to Ron, who was chatting excitedly with someone, probably Tonks, by the high pitched replies, downstairs. Sirius and Hermione looked at each other with a small smile, knowing he'd be after a long explanation once the adrenaline was gone. Then they quickly got dressed, sharing one last, long kiss and headed down to help defeat Voldemort, for the second time.


End file.
